


the secret garden

by voguesloth



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Books, F/M, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Well not really, insecure/shy peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8013457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voguesloth/pseuds/voguesloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, mainly on Peter’s part, while he tries to piece together a way to go about this whole situation. Ironically enough, the only element of his elaborate plan he seems to have missed, is the moment when he actually talks to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the secret garden

**Author's Note:**

> also posted on tumblr [here](http://scorletwitch.tumblr.com/post/150273262001/the-secret-garden)

It's not the first time Peter slips through the doors of one of the biggest rooms in the mansion, now converted into a students’ library. It definitely is an odd sight; to the people around him, other students and teachers alike, he's anything but a bookworm, let alone somebody who'd head straight to the classics section upon entering. In fact, he so often comes off as the person who could never, ever, in a million years, be associated with books, that him being there—even crossing the library's threshold—feels, well, quite oxymoronic.

However, despite the assumptions people may or may not have about him, Peter Maximoff does read, thank you very much, although he's much more into other types of literature. To him, there isn't a story more interesting than one incorporating extraterrestrial or supernatural creatures into the real world, portraying them so well that you could almost believe they are, actually, amongst us. He could go on and on about these, either professing his love for them, or drawing out elaborate theories concerning their credibility, if only his attention span was longer than a couple of minutes, before a stray thought would distract him, leading his mind onto a completely different trail.

It's not the promise of finding aliens, though, that lures him somewhere between Louisa May Alcott and George Orwell, every time he chooses to venture into the sea of tall bookshelves. This particular juncture of titles and authors always draws him in, even though he's never been a fan of anything displayed there. He knows what the majority of the books is about, although he hasn’t read any, at least not fully—he's not really sure whether or not he wants to change that, anyway. And as good and as acclaimed as the publications might be, he’s never there for them—it’s one particular reader who is the reason behind his frequent visits to the library.

He usually pretends he’s genuinely interested in the novels, though; the last thing he wants is to come off as a creep, or a stalker of some kind, and scare her off. More often than not, he’d end up sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, flicking through some pages of one book or another (he picks them at random, not really caring what lands in his lap, since he only needs to create an illusion that he’s reading), while she’d place herself in the other, identical one, a few feet away from him. He’d only cast his gaze up slightly every fifteen-or-so minutes to catch a glimpse of the beautiful girl sitting opposite him, his eyes returning to the text before him whenever he’d notice her tearing her eyes from whatever she’s chosen for herself.

He’s been playing this little game for something around two or three months now, coming to the same place every Thursday and Friday afternoon, even though initially, he figured that working up the courage to talk to her, maybe even ask her out, would take way less time. It’s slowly becoming more and more embarrassing that he just _sits there_ and does absolutely nothing but look at her every week, but it’s not his fault that he’s so intimidated by her, right? Not only is he sure that she’s got to be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, which already makes her totally out of his league, she probably wouldn’t appreciate his oh-so-clever scheme to get closer to her, completely dismissing him when she finds out that he hasn’t read any of the books she seems to adore for real. In hindsight, he definitely could’ve planned it better, because the only options he has now are either actually getting familiar with every literary classic he’s seen her with, admitting that he tried to use a trick and hoping that she at least forgives him for spying on her, or aborting his little mission altogether, because clearly, he wasn’t meant to get this right.

To be honest, neither seems acceptable, but he can’t be stuck in this vicious loop forever, can he?

***

Today, he finds her in a familiar position; she’s leaning on one of the armrests with her cheek resting on her left hand, with her legs crossed and an open book lying on her knees. What he doesn’t expect is how she straightens up suddenly, closing the hard cover with an audible thump as soon as he sits down in his usual spot. Her head, previously bowed down slightly, is now raised and he realises that she’s looking straight into his eyes.

‘Good choice. It’s a shame you’re not actually going to read it, though’, she states, then points at the book he’s holding with a slight movement of her chin.

Peter’s eyes widen, because really, it’s the last thing he’s expected her to say. Her calm, level tone is an odd contrast to what he’s imagined she’d sound like when, and if, she found out what he’s up to—since there’s no denying that he’s just been busted. The urge he feels to just _zap away_ from the situation is overwhelming, but he holds himself in place, since running away now would only ruin his chances further; that is, if he still has any left. The question is, though, when and how she discovered his plan. He knows she doesn’t have telepathic abilities, so she couldn’t have read his mind to get it from there, that’s for sure. He also doubts that somebody told her, because he himself hasn’t shared much information with anyone. So unless there is someone watching him watch _her_ , he honestly has no clue as to how she discovered what he’s actually doing in the library.

‘How do you know I’m not?’ still not sure what to say or do, he finally settles on a question that can’t—or at least, shouldn’t—betray his panic, hoping his voice doesn’t either, because if it does, even slightly, he’s damned. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing profusely, though, judging by the amount of heat that he feels in his cheeks.

Avoiding her sharp gaze, he looks down on the book in his hand, actually taking a moment to examine it, after he’s pulled it out from a random shelf a few minutes earlier. The moss green cover has definitely seen better days, but it’s still very pretty. Garlands of little flowers—roses, he thinks, but he’s not certain, since for some reason, it’s those parts that are the most tattered—span its sides, creating a frame of sorts for an illustration of a little girl in a red coat, holding a key in the palm of her hand. Her hair, blonde and wavy, falls down her back as she bends down to open an ivy-covered gate, clearly unused for a very long time. The title reads _The Secret Garden_ in capital black letters, but it doesn’t really tell him anything.

‘I know you haven’t read any of the books here’, the girl sitting in front of him lets out a light, amused chuckle. ‘Well, either that or there’s a whole lot of text all over me, since that’s what you seem to look at all the time, instead of, you know, the actual pages.’

‘So, you’ve noticed...?’ he asks, sheepishly. He’s trying to look her in the face now, at least not to appear as tense as he is, but the fingers of his free hand start to fiddle with the book’s edge, opening it slightly, then closing the cover back.

She’s back to leaning her chin on her hand, and he swears the small smile that was on her face just a couple of seconds ago, just became awfully smug. ‘You were making it kinda hard not to’, she says.

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, mainly on Peter’s part, while he tries to piece together a way to go about this whole situation. Ironically enough, the only element of his elaborate plan he seems to have missed, is the moment when he actually talks to her, because he’s got no idea _what the hell_ he’s supposed to say. Then again, he wasn’t really expecting it to happen like this; in his head, it was him who was to say the first word, after he’d decide precisely what he’d like to communicate to her. It’s like she’s turned the tables on him, catching him in one of those Chinese finger traps, and the more he tries to wiggle out of it, the harder it grips him.

He knows he can’t be quiet forever, though, because now he’s just staring at her again, absolutely dumbfounded. ‘Listen, if I offended you, or anything—’ he tries to explain himself, but she promptly cuts him off.

‘I don’t mind’, the corners of her lips curl upwards again. It’s not the cheeky half-smirk from before, but a genuine, cheerful smile; and he realises that it’s the first time ever that he’s been blessed by the sight of her smiling. It’s completely different from her usual, thoughtful expression, and gives her whole face an entirely different look, one he’s delighted to see. ‘But you could’ve just said something to me. There was no need to complicate things by acting weird, really.’

‘Does that mean that... you’d like to... that you wouldn’t mind going out with me? Like, on a date, or something?’ it’s clear that he’s stumbling over his words, because how could he not? Even though his mind is truly making the best of efforts to supply him with hundreds of possible sentences per second, trying not to blurt out all of them at once, or choosing just one that wouldn’t only embarrass him further, seems close to impossible.

For some reason, she seems to look past all his awkwardness, and her expression shifts slightly into one of encouragement, perhaps even a certain fondness.

‘You have to promise me something, though’, she says, with a little laugh slipping through her lips, ‘Less staring, and more talking.’

For the first time since she surprised him, Peter relaxes a bit, and a shy, albeit comfortable smile creeps onto his lips.

‘I think I can manage that’.

**Author's Note:**

> any feedback/con-crit would be much appreciated and encouraged, and please let me know if you find any mistakes I haven’t been able to spot!  
> follow me on tumblr or send me a request [here](http://scorletwitch.tumblr.com/), if you'd like!


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